


As the Sun Guides the Sea

by CourierNinetyTwo



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: Caning, F/F, Heavy BDSM, Painplay, set during Kushiel's Chosen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 04:29:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13990491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/pseuds/CourierNinetyTwo
Summary: On Kriti, Phèdre has a second request for the Lady Kore.





	As the Sun Guides the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Commissioned by sexartandpolitics!

Pasiphae offered me her name, and kindness too.

Yet it was not only kindness I sought. From my position on the floor before her, longing split me through like a spear caught deep between my ribs. In front of the Hierophant and a house of wandering initiates, I couldn't dare to voice my desire aloud. There was no choice but to channel it through my eyes and pray the Kore caught my meaning, where a pinprick of blood pulsed with heat, long-building and oft-denied.

Her dark gaze regarded me a moment longer, compassion cast aside for curiosity. She raised her hand, high enough to catch Oeneus' attention. "I believe that Phèdre has a second request for me. One best asked in private."

The Hierophant took her meaning, although he leveled me with a bemused look. "Of course, Pasiphae. I will see the chamber emptied."

At his command, all those in attendance exited swiftly as grace would allow, and he vanished down the far corridor, beyond a line of columns and out of view. Now the lady Kore and I were alone; I remained kneeling while she sat upon her throne, the shadow of her frame cast over me. Smooth marble pressed cold against my knees, and an answering ache tapered up the length of my spine, severing my marque in twain.

"Your Kushiel calls you to harsh diversions," Pasiphae declared, absent judgment. "I cannot bring the _thetalos_ into this room to cleanse your mind, nor whatever guilt lingers in your blood."

"I know, my lady." She had given me permission to refer to her otherwise, but I did not wish to treat Pasiphae like an equal -- far from it. "I would not ask you to defame what your goddess holds as sacred. I do not need her mercy."

"No mercy at all, from the way you burn before me." Rising from her throne, Pasiphae disappeared into its shadow, searching for something.

When she emerged from the half-light again, a straight and slender cane was held between her hands. The wood was a rich color, mottled with red, and I recognized it as a length of carob, whose seeds are sweet and weighed against gold to test its purity. I imagine the cane served as discipline for initiates who needed a light swat to keep them focused during the longest rites, but there was no gentle intention in Pasiphae's eyes, to either correct or teach. No, I would be brought to heel with such an implement, and the thought left me trembling.

"Can you endure such an ordeal, after being battered by the storm?" Her words were neither goad nor bait; it was concern that I would break rather than bend. "Your mind may hunger for what your body cannot take."

That much was true, but the pain and suffering Kazan and I went through to reach Kriti was not the sort that brought relief. My flesh heals fast, and I am yet young enough to recover from exhaustion without undue trial. The idea that Pasiphae could beat me hard enough to splinter sent sparks of desire fluttering through my body from head to toe; I take no shame in it, for such is how I was made.

"Yes, my lady. I am sure." Ever more sure as she took a step forward, transferring the cane to her right hand and gauging its heft. "It would be my privilege to endure."

"A privilege. Or perhaps a blessing?" Pasiphae's tone hung on a rhetorical note, and she walked a slow circle around me as I kneeled. "I know D'Angelines well enough. There is a word you use when your submission has come to an end, is there not?"

That question required an answer. "Yes, the _signale._ "

"I would have you use your god's name," she declared, and even though Pasiphae was behind me, I am sure she registered my surprise in the hitch of my shoulders. "Mother Dia reigns here, and if you wish for your penance to cease, Kushiel is your only protection."

Naamah guarded me too, although in a different manner. I could have numbered reasons to protest if I wished it, but Hyacinthe's name held more weight in my heart than it ever would in a foreign temple, and Pasiphae was a priestess. Matters of the divine were her purview, and I had drawn her into another sort of worship. To use Kushiel's name this once seemed to be a fair trade for the relief I so desperately needed.

"I will call to him if I need you to stop, my lady." With a deep breath, I fixed Kushiel's name under my tongue like a well-worn sweet, sharp and tucked against my teeth.

Having come full circle, Pasiphae looked me in the eye before her fingers hooked beneath my chin. I do not know what she was searching for, but after a minute, she was pleased enough to pull away. "Kneel back down, Phèdre."

Falling from _abeyante_ once more came with fluid ease, and a veil of silence was drawn between us while my brow rest against the stone. I could hear Pasiphae's soft steps against the marble, and more than once the idle swing of the cane slicing through air. Whether it was a tease or test, I shuddered with its nearness, and as the quiet stretched longer and longer, impatience itched at the base of my neck. Was I to beg in order for her to begin?

My eyes dared upward for a split second, intending to read Pasiphae's posture, but I found black eyes staring back, trapping me in place. "Quite the servant you make, although a drop of Elua's rebellious blood remains."

With a hard swallow, I returned my gaze to the floor, as if memorizing the subtle veins of stone would counter my transgression. Pasiphae's steps had a rhythm now, slow and controlled as any ritual, and my mind ran wild imagining where the first strike would land, if it would ever land, or if I was to be left aching as a punishment on this damned cold tile.

Pain shattered every wayward thought as the cane struck the exposed soles of my feet, hitting both of them in one firm lash. I gasped before the second blow fell, a touch higher on each arch. It was so _sharp_ , like the pressure of a blade just shy of breaking skin, and pleasure bloomed in its echo while Pasiphae landed a third stroke, then a fourth. She had not ordered me to count them, and for that I was grateful, for my blood was white-hot with agony and relief in equal measure, stealing the strength of every other sense.

Her arm was strong and swift, a flurry of force against tender skin, whipping my nerves into a frenzy. Never had I considered how small the vaults of my feet were, how much punishment could be dealt to the curve between toe and heel, and there was little time to process such a realization as whimpers and moans escaped my lips, plaintive but not protesting. Pasiphae paused after a particularly raw cry was wrenched out of me, and my tongue felt like lead, although I wanted to beg for her to continue.

"Stand up," she commanded, and I could have laughed, realizing the whole of her game. Except it was not a game, not when I was shaking in front of Pasiphae's throne, not when divine authority empowered her voice.

Habit saved me when decorum did not, for my legs wobbled the moment reddened soles touched the floor, soothed by the marble's chill before constant pressure brought a new wave of pain in its wake. I stood up straight, and realized the world was not blurry from an abundance of sensation, but from tears that had forced their way from my eyes.

Looking at Pasiphae was all the more difficult. Her hair was as bronze as Kushiel's wings, and although a goddess laid claim to her, his presence lay across Pasiphae's shoulders like a _sangoire_ cloak. There were a thousand things I wanted to say, but I wept instead, praying she would not take my willful collapse as reticence.

Mercifully, she did not. "Undress yourself, Phèdre."

I searched for the clasp of the mantle first, undoing the slender pin holding it shut. Smooth blue fabric slipped down my shoulders before I extricated myself from the pale weave of the dress beneath, which coiled like a serpent down around my calves. There was nothing else concealing me from Pasiphae, not when my hair fell loose and dry around my shoulders, but the cane lashed out just the same, striking across the front of my thighs. The blow was harder, yet almost blunt compared to the lashing my feet had taken.

"Fold everything properly," Pasiphae said, and my error was made clear. "Those clothes were a gift, little painbearer."

I had to bend down and turn to obey, made so very small beneath her gaze as the soft fabric molded beneath my fingers in fold after fold. The pain in my feet settled to a dull roar, but a feeling like pricking thorns climbed up the back of my heels and through my calves, radiating with every faint shift of my body. With Pasiphae behind me, I half-expected another blow to come when I could not see its swing, and anticipation left my heart beating thunderously in the cavern of my chest.

The strike never came, and the denial was as painfully sweet when I turned around with the folded clothes, head bowed in respect. "Where do you wish me to put them, my lady?"

"On the steps." Pasiphae gestured with the cane to the sharp delineations in the marble leading up to her throne. "Then bow before my seat."

Surrendering the mantle and dress with due respect, I brought my head down against the second-to-last step as if kneeling before an altar, my knees balanced as best they could against the narrow cut of stone.

"Cry out as loud as you wish," Pasiphae said, offering both a warning and encouragement, "the House of Minos is used to suffering's call."

Kazan's face jumped across my mind, but only in the breath between Pasiphae's words and the next swing of the cane. It landed across the back of my thighs, hard enough that a crimson welt surely would arise in moments. That strike was only the first of many, and with each jolt of pain driven deep into my flesh, I did sob, but only as a wordless plea for more. A storm I had survived, yes, but there was a greater one beneath my skin, one that raged and thrashed like a wounded animal.

"My lady," tears made my voice heavy, rasping up the inside of my throat, "my lady, please."

Pasiphae didn't answer out loud, but the next blow fell diagonally across a row of welts, and my scream echoed to the ceiling. Arousal burned wet and hot between my bruised thighs, though I knew she would not touch me in such a way. The priestess had little interest in my body except as a vessel of my spirit, one she was sculpting into surrender before her goddess' eyes. It was a denial my ego could bear well enough; Kushiel's blessing would give me release regardless.

Through half-lidded eyes, I saw the world cast in a red haze, like a swathe of crimson silk draped across Pasiphae's throne. Stripes criss-crossed up the length of my thighs and over the curve of my behind, a lattice of agony that pulsed with every beat of my heart. The heavy beating of wings within my skull overwhelmed every other sense, and although my god was near, I kept his name far from my lips. If Pasiphae had not tired, then I would let her drive my stamina to its last trembling threads.

"Stand up, Phèdre," she ordered a second time, and tears left my eyes streaked once more. It would be torture to obey, and it was a misery I craved.

Without the steps to give my hands some grip, I am not sure how I would have gotten to my feet, and I still swayed the moment my head rose high. Pasiphae's hand pressed against the center of my back like an anchor, and I was urged downward until the smooth sprawl of the floor was beneath my battered feet again.

"Now bring your arms high, and lace your hands against the back of your head." It took me a moment to position myself to her liking, but Pasiphae's voice allowed no room for disobedience. "Hold this for me, chosen one."

The rigid length of the cane was brought through the loops of my arms, its center pressing hard against the back of my neck. A groan slipped free from my lips, for to move at all would risk dropping the cane, or perhaps breaking it. Neither would be acceptable, but I was locked stiffly in place without a single rope to bind me. Pasiphae drew a single finger down between my shoulder blades, the touch painless yet sending a quiver through my entire body. It was another trial, daring me to flinch or struggle.

"You bled for this marque on your back, did you not?" Her nails framed the top petals of the briar rose, my skin flushed with exertion and sweat beneath them. "It is a beautiful sort of sacrifice."

"Yes, my lady." I took care to answer her question first, as best I could. "And thank you."

"Do not thank me, Phèdre." Pasiphae's breath spilled hot against my hair. "I ask you to sacrifice yourself again."

Ten lines raked from my shoulders down to the cradle of my ribs, fast and deep enough to cut my skin. I tasted iron and copper in the air, and agony's glow cut along the swell of my hips where Pasiphae's hands had stilled, leaving blood to flow in heavy, sluggish lines around my marque. My knees shook and buckled together to keep me standing, and I may as well have been hanging from the length of the cane, head bowed as the world spun in tapestries of red and gold. To be split open, to have Pasiphae's fingers against my flesh, was one of the last things I expected.

The storm had indeed weathered me. There was no balance or endurance left in my body, and I did not wish to speak Kushiel's name, but I also feared collapsing flat on my face against the stone. I had just opened my mouth to form a plea when Pasiphae found a powerful grip in my hair, deep to the root, and whispered, "Fall, Phèdre."

I let my knees crumple, trusting in her hold while pleasure and pain wound through me like a thousand harpstrings, drawn taut and ready to be plucked. Pasiphae touched every single one of them while I dangled from her grasp, legs in a tangle underneath me but head forced high, my aching eyes focused on the throne. Ecstasy seized me, release spilling over between my thighs, and in that instant I could swear I caught a glimpse of the goddess, golden as the sun and just as searing.

I'm not sure how much time passed before I came back to myself, the world finding its edges again. Pasiphae's fingers had relaxed in my hair, stroking over dark, sweat-damp tresses to soothe me. Every breath burned in my chest before she eased the cane away from my arms, and the deluge of relief that poured through me as I was allowed to lower them to my sides was a release in and of itself. My face was wet with tears, the salt of them stinging my mouth before they dripped down past my chin.

"Lay down." It was a gentle direction, but in that moment my mind was honed solely to obedience, and I curled up against the floor. The tile was warmed by my presence, but still cool enough to provide comfort to overheated skin. "I will return in a moment."

She did not go far. Even in my dazed state, I could tell Pasiphae's footsteps paused at the entryway to the chamber, and she must have summoned a servant with a few words. I was adrift, daring in and out of consciousness until a wet cloth was pressed to my back, startling a gasp from my lips. Blood was sluiced away in careful strokes, but Pasiphae did not stop there. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her twist red stains from the cloth, then return the cool contact to the first of the cane's stripes coloring my flesh.

It hurt, to be sure, but in a way that made me smile, and Pasiphae let out a hum of amusement while her hands worked lower. "You are a mystery to me, Phèdre nó Delaunay."

"How so, my lady?" In this state, my voice was scarcely capable of a whisper.

"Your nature is written in your eyes, but I have seen so many pass through Kriti, seeking to endure." She encouraged me to sit up, and I saw a clay cup of water beside the bowl with the cloth; Pasiphae offered it to me to drink from, and I gulped down its contents with little regard for grace as she watched me. "None have smiled during it."

"Kushiel does not guard me against every type of pain." I was far from Skaldia now, but its memory was an ever-present phantom. "But I thank you for sating the ache within me."

"Mother Dia willed it so," Pasiphae said simply, and I would have believed alone to be true that were she not so skilled with the cane. "To abjure the chosen of another deity would be more than disrespectful. It would be hubris."

I watched as she washed away the blood from beneath her nails, and a quiver of pleasure rippled through my back at the memory of them buried deep. "You still have my deepest gratitude, my lady."

"We will see how long that lasts when you need to walk." A smile pulled at the edge of Pasiphae's mouth, and I blushed at such blatant teasing; if she permitted it, I would have gladly offered release in turn, but I suspected her goddess cast a claim over her body long ago.

"You say that like it will not remind me of your generosity." I returned the smile, yet felt a pang through my heart. Once, my life had revolved around such intimate banter with patrons; now I was trying to halt a war and cleanse a pirate's bloodguilt. "I pray that it lasts long after we have parted."

Pasiphae laughed then, the sound warm and holy. Would that I could encourage such from her again and again. "Rest first, Phèdre. You will need your strength when your companion walks the _thetalos_."

Rest meant limping back to the bed the Hierophant had provided, and I was not sure if I could yet stand. The conflict must have showed on my face, for Pasiphae shifted until her legs were folded, the bottom of her dress stretched across her lap. A touch to my shoulder was encouragement enough, and I lay my head in the cradle of her thighs. Her fingers returned to my hair and began combing out the tangles woven in my exertion, tender yet focused.

I felt like myself once more, and let my attention amble aimlessly from the ancient history of Minos inscribed on the ceiling to the beautiful bronze of Pasiphae's hair. Kushiel's countenance had faded, but I still adored the color and how it looked spilled over the shoulders of her sapphire gown, woven with fragile stars. After another breath, my eyes closed, drawn shut like iron weighed them down as fatigue pulled at my limbs.

"May I sleep, my lady?" I made it a request, although I feared my body would not take well to a refusal. "Only for a moment."

"Of course." Pasiphae leaned down, placing a gentle kiss against my brow. "Dream well. You are safe in this sanctuary."

And there was no greater blessing.

\--


End file.
